


Forth My Mimic Comes

by clarityhiding



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Barbara Gordon is Oracle, Bodyswap, Case Fic, Gen, Identity Porn, Jason Todd is Robin, Magic, This Is Not Your Canon Timeline, Tim Drake is Robin, comatose character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-22 05:22:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20868872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarityhiding/pseuds/clarityhiding
Summary: Robin and Oracle team up to take on a tricky case of identity theft.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this for JayTim Week back in fall of 2018, but it went to a gen place and I wrote a bunch of other stories instead before finally coming back to this one. Since it stayed in the gen place, I figured it was perfect for DCU Big Bang 2019.
> 
> Thanks to chibi_nightowl and Nykyrianne for betaing, and to Dave for helping with my rhyming. And many, many thanks to gwenfrankenstien, my lovely artist! \o/ Find her (slightly spoilery) art for this story here: [AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20981156) | [Tumblr](https://gwenfrankenstien.tumblr.com/post/188265230946/a-day-late-due-to-technical-difficulties-but-here)

He notices Batman's behavior before he even twigs to what day it is. Sees the way the man looks worn and haunted, like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. Then Robin sees the date on the calendar hanging next to the computer ('Cats of the World,' featuring a number of cuddly felines in various ethnic costumes; Robin suspects he knows who gave _that_ gift) and he knows it's not the entire world that's weighing on his mentor's shoulders but rather one very small piece of it.

He gets tasked with patrolling near Gotham Cemetery on his own, which is a terrible idea because tonight of all nights Batman shouldn't be alone, but Robin is still new to this—has only been wearing the cape in an official capacity for a few months now—and he doesn't feel comfortable questioning what he's told. Alfred at least extracts a promise that patrol will end early for all of them tonight, so he contents himself with that.

Patrol is quiet. Since it's so easy and he's in the neighborhood—sort of—Robin decides to swing by and pay his respects before heading back to the Cave for hot cocoa and one of Alfred's very excellent sandwiches.

Coming up the hill, it all happens so fast. He nearly doesn't manage to grab the kid and mitigate the impact of the car, distracted by movement of some animal or something in the bushes. The car speeds off, the driver not even bothering to slow down and see what they hit, and Robin is left on the side of the road, his entire left side aching from where he skidded across the asphalt. The boy he tried to pull out of the way is unconscious and looks even worse off than him, having still sustained the brunt of the impact. Putting in a call to emergency services, he gets so caught up with checking for broken bones that it's not until the 911 operator is asking if he knows the identity of the victim that Robin takes a moment to really look at the boy's face.

"Oh," he says faintly. "Sorry, I have to go."

_"Sir? Please don't hang up, sir. Help is on the way and it will be much easier for them to—"_

Robin ends the call and switches frequencies, this time calling Batman. "You need to get over here," he says, nervous energy vibrating through him, his head starting to pound. "I'm on the road to Gotham Cemetery and a boy's just been hit by a car."

_"Are you alright?"_

"Yeah, it only grazed me. Batman, the boy. It's—he's—" Robin swallows, rubbing at his temple. "It's Jason Todd."

There's a beat of silence, then Batman's speaking again, his voice tight and clipped, earlier concern completely missing. _"I'm on my way, keep this line open."_

"It's just not fair, you just can't catch a break, can you?" Robin says softly, reaching out to touch the boy's mud-streaked cheek. "If I could, I'd switch places with you."

_"Robin, this is important. Do you know—"_

But Robin doesn't catch the rest of what Batman says, because his head is _throbbing_ and the world is going soupy and then—

* * *

_"Robin? Come in, Robin. Are you alright?"_

He takes a deep breath, lets it out again. "I… Yeah, sorry. I don't… I'm not sure where I am?" His whole body aches, feels sore and awful like he's just gone several rounds with some heavy-hitting mook.

_"Were you injured by the vehicle as well?"_ Batman asks over the comm in Robin's ear, sounding anxious and worried.

"Vehicle…?"

_"The one that hit—that impacted with the other boy,"_ Batman clarifies, his voice doing a weird hitching thing halfway through the sentence.

"I don't remember," Robin answers honestly, because he doesn't. He isn't entirely sure where he is, how he got here, what he was doing before this. Well, the last of those is at least easy to answer—he was doing the job, helping a citizen in distress. Glancing around, he looks for the boy Batman mentioned. Oh. Right in front of him, why would he forget—

Robin's train of thought screeches to a halt as he takes in the prone body he's kneeling beside, hardly even noticing as the Batmobile pulls up behind him and Batman comes out. "I don't. I don't understand?" He looks up at his partner, desperate for some kind of explanation. "B, what's going on?"

A heavy hand lands on his shoulder as Batman kneels down beside him. "Shh, it's alright. I know this is a lot, but you've just had a shock and I suspect you were hit by the car as well."

"Okay, but. But what's _he_ doing here?" Robin demands, gesturing to the impossible boy on the ground.

"I don't know, but I'm sure that you and I will figure it out together, Tim."

Robin's head snaps up and he stares at Batman. Who the hell is _Tim_?

"Besides," Batman says, his mouth thinning out into a grim line, "we can't be sure it's even him. This could very well be a trick."

"That's not…" He trails off, unsure of how to express or explain his distress. More than anything, he wants Batman to reassure him that everything will be alright, but when he looks down at the boy on the ground, he's met by the sight of that Jason's fingers—scraped and dirty with blood and dirt, full of splinters, the fingernails torn and broken. 

Suddenly, Robin is hit by the visceral memory of waking up in a small space and clawing his way out. Of making his way down to the road, feeling so disoriented that when he saw another boy in _his_ colors he didn't even notice the oncoming car. Queasy, he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to escape those bloody fingers (his own green-clad knees). "No, it's him."

"Pardon?"

"You said we can't be sure this is actually Jason Todd. It's him."

"And what evidence are you basing your assessment on?"

"Oh, you know. It's just a feeling in my gut," Jason says, laughing hollowly as his stomach twists in a horrible, awful way.

* * *

He wants the body (_his_ body) to go to the hospital for immediate treatment, but Batman instead packs Robin and the unresponsive body of Jason Todd into the Batmobile and sends it back to the Cave on autopilot. Batman himself stays behind, wanting to check out the cemetery for possible clues as to where this Jason came from.

In the car, Jason goes through the motions, hooking the body up to the emergency monitors built into the vehicle as he tries to work out what happened. Last he remembers, Joker had him and there was a bomb with a timer that wasn't going to wait for Batman to show up and save the day.

He died, he's pretty sure about that. Dying would explain a lot of things—why he was in a box when he woke up, the grave he had to dig himself out of, the nice suit comatose-him is wearing. It would also explain why he saw another boy running around in a Robin suit very different from the one he and Dick wore.

Of course, none of this explains how it is that Jason and this new Robin somehow ended up in each other's bodies. At least, Jason hopes the other boy—Tim, Batman called him Tim—is in comatose-Jason. This head seems pretty empty, after all, and the only other possibility would be that Tim ceased to be entirely. He may not know the guy, but the kid tried to save Jason's dumbass self from that car and Batman thought he was good enough to inherit the red and green.

"Hey," he says softly, leaning into the backseat to squeeze the shoulder of other-Jason. "Tim, right? I'm sorry about this, you were just doing the job. You don't deserve to get mixed up in whatever fucked-up magic shenanigans brought me back."

Apparently that car really did a number on him, because Tim-Jason doesn't do anything other than breathe in response. Hell.

Alright, first things first—Jason has to fix this. Something gave him a second chance, but that doesn't mean anything if he has to steal someone else's body to have it. He should probably keep it on the downlow for as long as possible that he isn't this Tim guy, since Bruce is being even more paranoid than normal and will definitely bench Robin if he finds out anything is different than it should be.

With that in mind, he turns back to the dashboard and uses the interface there to access the computer back at the Cave. Time to learn just whose life he's currently living.

* * *

By the time the car arrives at its destination, Jason has more questions about Tim Drake than he has answers. Unlike Dick, Tim's parents are both alive. Unlike Jason, neither one is a backstabbing criminal (he's forgiven Sheila, mostly, but Catherine will always be his _real_ mom). Tim's only been wearing the cape for a few months and he got Robin by, get this, _stalking_ Batman. Which takes some guts, particularly for a kid from a well-to-do family with no sort of meta ability.

If he's honest with himself, Jason has to admit that Tim sounds like the kind of Robin Batman always needed, just the kind of son Bruce always wanted. Smart, well-off, clever—a little brown-noser all around. No chance Batman would ever think _Tim_ deliberately pushed someone to their death.

Jason hates him more than a bit, and he hates that he hates him.

"You're kind of a little snot, aren't you?" he says to the body in the backseat. "I'm gonna try not to hold it against you, but let's be honest—it's gonna be real hard."

The car pulls into the Cave, the roof slides back, and the next thing he knows, Jason is dealing with a very confused Alfred.

"Master Bruce said you found someone by the cemetery?" Alfred peers into the car and goes pale. "Oh my."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Jason says, scrambling back to carefully disconnect Tim-Jason from the monitors. "The boss doesn't think it's really him, but I got a good feeling it is."

Unlike Batman, Alfred doesn't question why he should believe this is the real Jason Todd. Instead, he quickly falls to helping Jason move the unconscious boy to the bed in the infirmary and hook him up there. "I hadn't realized you were quite so well-acquainted with some of the more obscure equipment here, Master Tim. There hasn't been a need to use most of it for quite some time," Alfred comments, raising an eyebrow.

Jason gulps, letting his hands fall to his sides. "Oh, well. I… read up on it," he fibs. "Always be prepared and all that. Do you think he'll wake up anytime soon? I was—I mean, he looked mostly fine before we got hit by the car."

"Master Bruce didn't make any mention of your being hit by a _car_," Alfred says sharply.

"He had other stuff on his mind. It's no big deal," Jason says, attempting to brush it off, but it's too late.

Alfred makes him sit on a nearby stool so he can check him over, examining, cleaning, and bandaging up each and every one of Jason's (well, Tim's, technically) scrapes. Not that there are that many. _Tights_—tights that are basically _leggings_—genius, Jason has no idea why he never thought to change Dick's stupid scaley unitard. Definitely something he's going to look into once everyone's back in the right bodies again.

"Alf… What's—If it's him. If it's actually Jason, back for good, what's going to happen to me?" he finally asks after several minutes of fidgeting.

"I'm afraid I don't understand the question."

"Jason was Robin when he—when the Joker—" Jason stops, gulping. He can't say the words, can't even really think about everything that happened in the warehouse. Neither his conscious nor his unconscious mind are willing to focus on that entire amorphous topic at all. "He was Robin," he says at last. "Will he still be Robin? When Bruce sorts this all out, I mean."

For a moment Alfred looks so tired that Jason regrets asking, but he can't exactly take it back now. "Master Jason… may not want Robin any longer when he wakes. What happened in Ethiopia was…" He sighs and shakes his head. Puts his hand on the counter he's standing beside like he needs something to help hold him up. "To be given a second chance like this, perhaps he will be content with just being a boy for a time—oh my, Master Tim. This is rather unexpected."

Jason doesn't look up from where he's got his arms wrapped around the man's waist, just hugs him tighter. "You're the best, Alfie."

* * *

"Anon his Thisbe must be answered,\And forth my mimic comes. When they him spy,\As wild geese that the creeping fowler—" A soft rap on the half-closed door causes him to lose his train of thought, and he glances up.

"Hey, sorry. Didn't mean to intrude," Dick says, pushing the door open the rest of the way and coming into the room.

"It's okay," he says, heart in his throat. He hasn't seen Dick since—since before. He's been busy elsewhere—off-world with the Titans again, maybe, or it could be B just hadn't thought to tell him the news until now. "I'm just doing h—my reading for English. Alfred said he liked—likes—books and all the literature on coma patients says you're supposed to engage with them, so I figured…" He figured Tim might pick up some of it and not be completely behind in his classes when this whole mess finally gets sorted out. Jason was reading from Tim's WorldCiv textbook earlier.

"It's a good idea," Dick says, grabbing the other chair in the room and dragging it close so he can sit backwards in it beside Jason. "Jeez, I can't believe—" He reaches out, gently smoothing down Tim-Jason's curls. Ever rebellious, they immediately spring back into place. "I mean, Babs said he was back, but I didn't really think…"

Jason's head jerks up. He didn't think she was even still in contact with Dick. Not after—after what happened. After Joker. He wonders what she's doing now, how it is that the Bats are still keeping her in the loop, letting her know sensitive information about things like wayward Robins miraculously coming back from the dead. As far as he's aware, Bruce has been keeping this whole thing tight under wraps, not even telling his buddies at the Justice League, even though he's probably dying to have Martian Manhunter poke around in Tim-Jason's head. "Is she—" He stops, gulps. Tries to think of how to phrase his question like he's Tim and knows everything that happened over the past two years. "She told you what happened?"

"She said you found him by the cemetery. That he was up and walking about?" Dick glances over at him, warm and encouraging. He must like Tim a lot, to be this nice instead of demanding that he leave right away so he can spend time alone with the boy in the bed. Or maybe he just doesn't care enough to feel the need to have time alone with 'Jason.'

"We got hit by a car. He seemed fine before that, though. I mean, I think he recognized Robin and—and didn't see the car," Jason explains.

"Yeah, but you tried to save him. I bet he'd be a lot worse off without you."

"Maybe," Jason says, feeling more than a little sick to his stomach. If he'd just stayed in the ground where he was supposed to be, Tim would never have been hit by that car, and he definitely wouldn't be comatose and stuck in the wrong body.

"Maybe nothing. You definitely helped him out. I'm sure Jason will want to thank you when he wakes up," Dick says firmly.

"B doesn't even think it's him, not really. He's running tests and stuff, wants to make sure it's not some trick." It hurts that he doesn't believe, but Jason understands why Bruce isn't immediately accepting it as real. "Anyway, we don't even know if he's gonna wake up; Dr. Thompkins says he's really bad off. His head got knocked around pretty hard, it's 50-50 whether he'll ever come to."

"You and the big man need to stop being such a downers, little bro," Dick insists, reaching over to completely ruin the spikes of hair Jason spent way too much time figuring out how to style this morning. "Gotta have some positive thinking, here. It's not every day one of us comes back from the great beyond. I can't help but think that whatever brought him back can't plan on having him sleep his whole second life away. He's clearly got a guardian angel looking out for him or something."

"Yeah," Jason says, his stomach twisting into tighter and tighter knots. "Or something."

* * *

Things have changed a lot in the short time Jason's been gone. Not only does Tim Drake have his own laptop, the machine can even connect to the Cave's computer remotely—at least, it can once he recognizes the people in the framed photograph on the kid's desk and he thinks to try the date Dick's parents died as the passcode. He doesn't spare more than a moment to reflect on how depressingly morbid that is because he has bigger fish to fry. Remote access to the Cave means he can find out all the stuff Tim should know but Jason doesn't because, oh right, he's been _dead_ for the past two years.

Stuff like how Dick and Starfire never got hitched (probably she had a moment of clarity and realized she could do _much_ better than that idiot) and Nightwing's now based in Blüdhaven, of all places. Where he's a _cop_, because that doesn't sound like the worst idea ever for a vigilante. God, he's glad he's not actually related to the guy; he might literally die from sheer embarrassment. At least Dick's finally ditched the stupid circus costume with the ridiculous collar. Maybe that was Tim's influence—Jason's still can't get over the brilliant addition of _tights_ to the Robin suit.

Recalling what Dick said earlier, he closes Nightwing's file and runs a search for Babs, eager to learn what she's gotten up to. Maybe the doctors were wrong, maybe there's been some miracle cure and she's back on the streets again as Batgirl. Maybe—

Suddenly the screen goes dark and an eerie green mask appears in the center, bobbing slightly. A mechanical-sounding voice spills out of the speakers, asking, _"What are you doing, poking your nose around like this, Boy Wonder?"_

Jason slams the laptop shut, yanking the power cable and popping out the battery. Holy moly, he got _hacked_ while he was connected to the Cave's computer, Bruce is going to _kill_ him if the system's been compromised. This is what he gets for messing around with tech he doesn't fully understand.

He's still busy panicking when Tim's cell phone starts ringing, causing him to nearly fall out of his chair. Cripes, it's probably Bruce, ready to tear him a new one. His hand hovers over the vibrating phone for a moment as he debates answering. Ignoring it probably won't make the problem go away, just make him look more guilty. Finally, he sucks it up and answers.

"Hello?"

_"That was rude, ending the connection just because I called you on being a snoop,"_ a female voice says.

"Ba—Barbara?" He catches himself just in time, swallowing down the nickname. Tim has only been Robin for a few months now, it's doubtful he's allowed a deeper level of familiarity. "What?"

_"You of all people should realize I have the computer set to alert me if anyone gets too interested in my business,"_ she chides. _"Considering you had me help you set up the same protocol for you and all. Curious that you seem so interested in finding out about yourself."_

Tension bleeds out of Jason as he realizes that Babs must have been the one who accessed the laptop just now. "Oh, that's just… I wanted to see what the boss had in there. For Jason, when he wakes up," he says, using the first excuse he can think of. It's nearly true, even. "Since so much has changed since—since what happened."

She's silent for a long moment, long enough that he's afraid he's screwed up and given something away. But then she says, _"That's really sweet of you, Tim. Tell you what—I was planning on stopping by the manor tomorrow anyway to visit Sleeping Beauty. How about I swing by your place after and help you out some?"_

"I'm staying at the manor right now," he says. "My—my parents are traveling."

_"Of course they are,"_ she says, sounding strangely scornful. _"Fine, I'll stop by your room. See you then, kiddo."_

"Bye!" He's still grinning after he hangs up, excited about seeing her again. Babs was always nice to him before, and it sounds like she gets along well with Tim now too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jason quotes Puck from 'A Midsummer Night's Dream,' Act III, Scene ii.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, he's in the middle of explaining Tim's geometry homework to the comatose boy when there's a gentle knock at the door. Unlike Dick, Babs waits to come in until Jason finishes the sentence he's reading and looks up at her.

"Hi," she says softly, like she's actually afraid she might wake up the boy in the bed. "Would you mind a little more company?"

"When it's you? Never. Come on in." Setting the heavy math book aside, he scrambles to his feet to move the extra chair Dick left the other day out of the way. He's trying not to goggle as she rolls into the room, but it's hard. Babs was in a chair when he last saw her, but somehow he thought she must have beaten all the odds and gotten better.

Yet another mark against the Joker, and Jason grips the edge of his desk to steady himself as conflicting emotions of anger, sadness, and guilt all well up inside him at the same time. He's angry about all the bad the villain has done, sad to see Babs like this, and weirdly guilty that, unlike her, he's managed a near-complete recovery from his own encounter, barring untimely cars and messed-up magic.

"You're reading your homework to him? Hate to break it to you, but I don't think he'll be much help," she says, coming close enough to take one of Tim-Jason's hands in her own.

"I figure—he's missed so much, we're closer to the same age now. Maybe he'll pick something up if I read it to him, and the work has to be done anyway," he explains, choosing his words more carefully than he did with Dick. It's easy to lie to Dick when he's distracted; Jason is pretty sure Babs is never distracted, not really. "I wasn't expecting any help."

"Just as well. He probably wouldn't be able to help you even if he were awake—I was tutoring him in math before, you know."

He bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from doing anything more than nodding. That's definitely a tidbit Tim Drake would never know. "I should go. So you can be alone with him. I mean, I have loads of homework and I better get a jump on it if I want to be able to patrol later," he babbles, grabbing the math book and backing towards the door. As wonderful as it is to see her out and about, he'd somehow forgotten just how piercing Babs's gaze can be.

"Yes," she says slowly, watching him the whole time. "You better do that. I can always talk to you about your special project some other time."

* * *

He manages to finish Tim's geometry work just in time to patrol that evening. One of the amazing things about being Tim Drake is that Batman doesn't insist on Robin staying with him the entire night. Instead, Robin has a set patrol route he follows, looking out for trouble. Batman might call him for an assist on something big, but in general he's left to his own devices.

School night patrol is shorter than Fridays or Saturdays, and he's already on the home stretch by half-past eleven. Robin has stopped two muggings, escorted an elderly lady home from a late-night grocery run, and left a would-be car thief trussed up for Gotham's finest to find. He's feeling pretty good about things and expects he's done for the night when the earpiece he's wearing crackles to life.

_"Hello, little bird."_ It's the weird, flat computer voice that came out of the laptop yesterday and it startles him enough that he botches a landing, just barely keeping from twisting an ankle as he rolls in recovery.

"Hi?" He thinks this is Babs, but he never did get confirmation and he's been too nervous to risk plugging Tim's laptop back in to find out.

_"Think you could swing by the old clock tower and pay me a visit before you head back home?"_

His heart seizes in his chest because that's… Whoever this is has just told him the location of their HQ over the comm, something B would have his hide for if he ever did it, back in the day. "I could. I could do that," he says cautiously. He can always scout it out first, after all. Leave if it's a trap.

It's not a trap, and Barbara is waiting at the window when he lands and starts looking for a way in ten minutes later. "Hi, little birdie. This way," she says, pushing it open and rolling out of the way so he can enter.

"What's up?" he asks as he follows her through the space and over to a workstation with an insane number of monitors scattered across it. Most of them show random scenes of the city, from angles that make it obvious they're the feeds of various CCTV cameras. Barbie may be stuck inside these days, but she's sure keeping herself busy.

"First off, I'd like to know who you are and what the hell you've done with Tim," she snaps. There is a sudden, sharp pain in his calves as she jerks her chair about in a quickly executed turn, and an escrima stick is jammed up against his windpipe.

"What? I _am_—"

"You might be good enough to fool Bruce—he's too busy with Jason to notice much of anything else right now—but I've been watching you all evening and you don't move like him."

Jason's stomach sinks and his eyes shift over to the monitors while taking this new information into consideration. Each and every one of them shows a view along the patrol route he followed earlier, and he mentally kicks himself for not noticing that immediately. Still, no point in outright admitting to it before he absolutely has too. "I _did_ get hit by a car the other day. My inner-ear is probably still a bit screwy."

"Screwy enough that you suddenly care about your homework instead of putting it off to the last minute? No, I don't think so. If you _did_ have any lingering head trauma, you would be _less_ likely to work on school stuff, not more." Never taking her eyes off of him, she slowly shakes her head and digs the escrima stick in a little closer. "Now, tell me. What did you do with Tim?"

He shouldn't tell her, should keep feigning ignorance because the very last thing he needs is for her to sound the alarm, cutting him off from Tim-Jason before he has a chance to _fix_ this, but. But he's _tired_. Of running and hiding and pretending and really, he's just ready to be home for _real_, not faking it and attempting to fool himself into believing it's all going to be okay. "I think he might be inside my body," he whispers, too ashamed to even meet her eyes. "Sorry. I didn't mean—I never meant to—" He gulps, easily pushing the swallow past the escrima that let up significantly when her grip went slack with shock. "Sorry, Barbie."

"Oh god. Jason?"

"Yeah."

"How in the world…?" She doesn't lower the stick, but she must believe him to some degree, because a whole spectrum of emotions slide across her face—guilt and concern, delight and confusion. Grief.

Sighing, he slumps against the wall at his back. "I don't know. One minute I'm walking down to the road, ready to jump on this kid wearing _my_ colors, the next minute the boss is on comms, wanting to know if I'm alright. I… I might remember the car hitting me—us? I think it would've been a lot worse if this prete—if Tim, Robin hadn't been there. Knocked me out of the way enough that I just got winged instead having the full force of the car hitting me."

"If you expect me to believe that you got knocked clean out of your body and into his…" She raises the escrima again, but her hand and voice are both unsteady. Uncertain. Just like he feels, right now.

"Honestly? I don't know. Maybe, but I really fucking doubt it. There's some other shit going on and…" He gulps again, not wanting to talk about it, but she's the smartest person he knows, just about. Smarter than Bruce, definitely smarter than Dick. Maybe even almost as smart as Alfred. "Barbie, I woke up in a coffin, _my_ coffin. I had to _dig_ my way out. I don't… The cave computer says I've been dead for _two years_. Everyone's moved on and I shouldn't be good for anything but worm food now, but I clawed my way out and then something _happened_ with, with Robin and I don't. I don't understand."

"Oh god, _Jason_." The sticks fall from her hands and suddenly those strong arms are wrapping around him, pulling him down until he's half draped over her, his face pressed into her hair. "I can't believe you had to—That you think—! We all miss you _so_ much—no one's 'moved on.'"

"I got replaced. There's a new Robin now." Because even if he's wearing the suit, he's also wearing _Tim_. It's like some great cosmic joke that he just can't find any humor in. Something brought him back, but the only way he can get his life back is by not being him any more. Which means he's not really getting anything back at all.

The arms around him tighten, and something hot and wet presses against his neck. "No one replaced you, Jason, not any more than you replaced Dick. Tim just… Bruce was in a bad place after you—after. He was taking risks he shouldn't, beating criminals until they were inches from death. He was just… so angry. Tim, he didn't know what had happened, not all of it. Just that you were dead and there was no one left to be Batman's partner." She laughs, soft and wet. "He actually tried to get Dick to come back and put on the scales again."

He laughs as well, only too ready to imagine what kind of face Dick must've made at the idea of working with Bruce again. "Wow, I bet Dickie hated that." Though. Though Dick's around a lot, now. Dropping in unannounced, apparently one of Tim's teachers when he was training to be street-ready. One more miracle Tim Drake pulled off that Jason never managed.

"My understanding is it went about as well as you can imagine," she says. "Tim only ended up Robin because it was clear no one else could or would do it… and even then, I think Alfred may have sort of… persuaded him into it. But it was never to _replace_ you. Tim respects you too much for that."

"_Me_? He doesn't even _know_ me." Unless you count being inside him, which, wow. Really sounds wrong and more than a little creepy. Barbara's arms around him loosen and he straightens, frowning down at her. "Something wrong?"

She smiles at him, a sly smirk that reminds him so much of the old Batgirl, swinging and carefree. Then she turns and rolls over to the computer. "Oh, Jason. You've been trying so hard to do this, and you haven't even found the thing that makes that boy tick. I know you've always been one for the written word, but if you really want to understand Tim Drake, you have look at the pictures."

* * *

Jason doesn't know why Barbie is choosing to trust him when he says he never meant to take Tim's body from him, doesn't know why she believes him when he says he's him, that he has no idea how he came back, is only trying to getting everything back to how it's supposed to be (or, at least, everyone back in the right bodies). Maybe it's part of the whole thing where, like an elephant, she never forgets—never forgets a fact, a gesture, a turn of phrase. All the little tells that make up who a person is without them ever realizing it, the things that make them _them_ beyond just face and voice and smell.

Actually, when he thinks about it, it makes a lot of sense that she should trust and believe him, and he's kicking himself for not going to her for help from the start. Oh well, spilled milk and all that.

"Okay, I disabled the alarm and I'm through the window and past the trip wire—what now?"

_"There should a bed somewhere under the mess. Last I checked, he was keeping it under that, southwest corner."_

Picking his way around the clutter littering the floor, Jason carefully makes his way over to the double on the far side of the room. It's messy and unmade, sheets and covers pulled out from where they may have once upon a time been tucked in. Nudging his foot under the southwest corner as instructed brings him up against something solid that clangs slightly when he kicks it. He gets to his knees and pulls it out and—it's a lock box.

Combination lock, and he has no idea what the code could be. "Hate safe-cracking," he grumbles.

_"Maybe try the date the Graysons died?"_

"Naw, he already used that as his computer passcode, I doubt he'd use it here also. Guess I gotta do it the old-fashioned way." Which should be easy enough, since Batman makes sure to outfit his Robins with all the good— "What the heck? How does he get the job done without any safe-cracking tools?"

_"He tends to be a bit more tech-oriented than you and Nightwing,"_ Barbara tells him. _"It took him a long time to get good enough to pass muster on the physical stuff, and he just doesn't have the intuition needed for this kind of work."_

"If that's supposed to be some kinda remark about where I'm from—"

_"It was meant as a compliment,"_ she says, and he can practically _see_ the unamused look on her face at the words, even though the filter means there's no inflection to her voice. _"I've got tools. Bring it back here and we can go through it together. It's past time it was moved to your HQ for safe-keeping anyway."_

He grimaces at the cumbersome box, but isn't about to argue with the lady behind the mask. As long as he keeps a good grip on it, this shouldn't be any more tedious than swinging around with a civilian twice his height, and he's had plenty of experience with that sort of thing. "Got it. On my way."

* * *

It's easy work to break into the box once he has the right tools back at the clock tower. Despite having read everything he could find on about Tim Drake back at the manor, he still wasn't prepared for what he finds inside.

"It's all pictures—of us!" He pulls out sheet after sheet of contact prints, tiny thumbnails of night-time shots of Gotham, all in black-and-white. There are plastic sleeves of film and envelopes of photographs in addition to the sheets, everything carefully dated and labeled. "I knew he stalked B and Dickface, but I didn't think…" The envelopes labeled 'Robin I' and 'Batgirl' are slim compared to the three fat ones all marked as 'Robin II,' one for each year Jason wore the cape. "Wow."

"Dick and I still can't decide if it's all hero-worship or if someone has a little crush," Barbara says, carefully taking one of the envelopes from him and thumbing through the contents. "He was never trying to take anything from you, kiddo. If anything, I think Tim always thought of you as irreplaceable. One of a kind."

"But I don't… He doesn't even _know_ me! It's kind of creepy, isn't it?"

"It's a little odd," she agrees. "Of course, from what I've gathered about his home life, it's not that surprising? Tim is, hmm..." She pauses, tapping her chin in thought.

"What? He's what? C'mon, Barbie, I gotta know this stuff if I don't want people figuring out the whole thing and B strapping me to a chair to interrogate."

"You know he was there when Dick's parents fell, right?"

"He _saw_ that? I mean, he's got that picture of him and his parents with the Graysons on the date they fell, but he was just—he was a _little_ kid. A twerp! And he saw them _die_?" Jason feels sick, dropping the photos and staring down at them in mild horror. He knew there was something a little off about Tim Drake—what kind of kid thinks stalking dangerous vigilantes through the worst parts of _Gotham_ at night is a good idea, right? But he never realized… "Fuck, that probably messed him up for _life_."

"It definitely left him with a sort of fixation when it comes to Dick," she agrees. "I think the episode may have affected his entire family, actually—Tim was pretty young when it happened, but his memory's good and from what little I've wheedled out of him, it sounds like his parents got along a lot better before they went to Haly's. They went to family counseling for a while after, but records show that only Tim continued to see someone to work through the resulting trauma after the first couple months. From what I've heard, that really wasn't enough for his parents."

Jason swallows. He knows how parents can be… not good when there's shaky stuff between them. He thought Tim had an easy time of it—rich-ass parents, fancy schools, nice neighborhood, everything he never got before Batman. But money isn't everything. "Were they. I mean. Tim's staying with Bruce right now, but I haven't seen anything about his parents being dead. Did they… hurt him?"

"What? Oh, no! Not as far as I know, at least. They just… travel a lot. They're barely in Gotham much if at all anymore, mostly sending Tim to boarding school and running off to do their own thing."

"But he's not in boarding school anymore?"

"He and his parents and Bruce worked out this whole thing—Tim wants to go to public school, but he obviously can't stay home alone all the time. So Bruce has temporary custody of him when his parents are away. Bruce… he said he missed having a kid around the manor, since Dick has moved out and after—after—"

"After I died," he says, soft and just a little guilty. He knows it's just something B made up to make the whole Robin thing easier for Tim, but. But maybe not? Maybe he actually _does_ miss Jason, at least a little.

"Yeah. Bruce claims Dick met Tim at a gala sometime—true, probably. They got to talking, Dick told him how much he liked Gotham City High, Tim said he wanted to try that too, but his home life wouldn't allow it, so Dick spoke to Bruce who spoke to the Drakes. Amazingly, they agreed."

"Ugh, who just lets some weirdo they don't know look after their kid?" Jason shudders, making a face. "I mean, you and me, we know Bruce isn't a pedo, but Tim's parents don't know that, and you _know_ what some of the trash rags write about B and Dick and me."

"I'm not sure if they're around enough to even be aware of those particular rumors," Barbara says. "The way Dick tells it, they were flattered and grateful when one of the most important men in the city offered to act as a sort of unpaid babysitter for the kid they were mostly ignoring anyway."

"It's still not right. Parents are supposed to be there for their kids." Sure, Willis never was, but Catherine always tried her hardest to make sure Jason was happy, until it was just too hard for her. Even at her sickest, there was never any doubt in his mind that she loved him. From everything he's seen about Jack and Janet Drake, he isn't sure Tim can say the same about his own parents.

"Everyone's different," Barbie says, gently squeezing his arm. "Sometimes the best family is the one you find. And sometimes even that one isn't always that great for you."

"Sheila wasn't—she had her own problems she had to worry about. What happened, it wasn't all her fault," he protests.

"I wasn't thinking about Sheila Haywood." She doesn't elaborate any further, but the dark look behind her eyes makes him feel weirdly uncomfortable, and he quickly turns his attention back to the box and its treasure trove.

Reaching down, he carefully picks up the first of the envelopes, the one marked 'Robin I.' "There's only one of these. He must've started during Dick's last year as Robin. Jesus, he couldn't've been more than eight—a real squirt."

"Nine, actually, I think. At least, that's how old he claimed he was when he figured out Robin's identity. He may have been as much as ten when he started taking pictures of Robin and Batman."

"Heck, and he's _tiny_!"

She gives him a wry look. "You're one to talk, Mr. Undersized For His Age."

"Yeah, but I had—that was different. There were reasons," he protests, flushing slightly. He's all too aware of just how small he is—the real him, the one in the bed back at the Manor. Before, he'd always felt like he was big, practically an adult, which had made it all the worse when Bruce would keep pulling him back, telling him to slow down. It's really hard to stay blind to just how big he _isn't_ now that he has an outsider's perspective. "Tim never had to go to bed hungry."

"Food isn't the only thing a child needs to flourish, Jason. You know that."

Thumbing through the photographs of Dick, seeing the idiot through Tim's eyes (seeing _himself_ through Tim's eyes), it's distressingly easy to see that Barbie has a point. "He didn't ask to be Robin, but… he needs it too, doesn't he?" Needs that connection to someone, anyone.

"Maybe not Robin in particular, but I definitely think he needed friends who could keep up and challenge him," she says. "Tim is a very bright young man, but his mind is so quick, it's hard for the average person to keep pace. I don't think his parents have been able to for years."

It's… strange. When he first saw another person—another _boy_—wearing _his_ colors, _his_ symbol—he'd been angry. Frustrated and confused, hurt that Bruce was so quick to replace him, flummoxed that he'd felt the need to. Now, seeing all this, the entire family from one step removed, it's hard to believe he never realized before just how out of his depth Batman is with… everything.

"He really needs us, doesn't he?" Jason says softly, gently shuffling the photographs back into the envelope and closing it. "Tim." And Bruce.

"Yes. He really does."


	3. Chapter 3

"I want to show you something," Barbara says the next time he stops by to visit.

School is out for the day and Tim is supposed to be at tennis practice. Jason begged off on account of still being sore from his run-in with a car, showing off his various bruises and the still-swollen lump on his scalp when the coach gave him a skeptical look. Bruce doesn't know he skipped practice, doesn't know he rode his bike over to the clock tower instead of taking the bus back to Bristol.

That's okay. There are a lot of things Bruce doesn't know right now, mostly because he's too busy running every test he can think of on the comatose boy at the manor, trying to prove that the body can't possibly be Jason Todd.

"What's up?" he asks, leaning Tim's bike against the wall and toeing off his shoes.

"This is the footage from the night you and Tim encountered each other." Barbara presses a key and the video on the screen starts to play, shaky and weirdly greenish in color.

"There's a CCTV camera pointed at the cemetery? Weird."

"No, this is from Robin's mask—the Starlite lenses give it that green color. The feed from the mask is automatically uploaded to the cave computer to be gone over later for any hints or evidence that may've been missed the first time around. Bruce has already been over it multiple times, but I figure since you were actually there, you might have some additional insight."

"I don't know how I can help," he admits. "The whole night is kind of fuzzy right up until I was staring down at my own body."

They watch together as Robin approaches Gotham Cemetery, clearly intending it as his destination. "The night you came back," Barbara says quietly. "It was the anniversary of your death. Did you know?"

Since he's swung by the cemetery himself since then and seen the dates on the ridiculous tombstone, he does know, but that's the only reason why. "I just woke up in the dark, with air so stale I felt like I was suffocating. Took a lot of work to break the coffin open and dig my way out."

She reaches out wraps an arm around his waist, hugging him. "I'm surprised you were able to breathe at all, it'd been so long."

"Yeah, I—oh, hey. There's me," he says, leaning forward to point at the small figure approaching the road on the opposite side. It seems that Robin noticed the new arrival also, because he's immediately changing direction and heading straight towards him. Robin also sees the car, carelessly traveling along without any mind to its surroundings and it's clear that Robin is speeding up, desperate to intervene.

He almost doesn't make it.

But there's a flurry of color and motion, tumbling, colliding, everything coming together all at once, and then the car is out of sight and Robin is staring down at Jason's face.

"I… remember seeing him. That's why I started crossing the road—I wanted to know who the hell this kid was wearing my colors, my R. I didn't realize any time had passed, what was going on," he admits. "I didn't even notice the car. He probably saved my life, but all I could think of right then was how mad I was that he'd stolen my colors."

"You'd just literally dug yourself out of your own grave. I think you're allowed to be a bit out of sorts after something like that."

"Yeah, but. But what if he never wakes up? Or we never get switched back? I was mad at him and he might've given up his own life to save mine." Jason's gut twists and he feels sick to his stomach. Everything he's read about Tim says the same thing—that he's the perfect Robin, the partner Batman was always meant to have, way better than Jason, maybe even better than stupid Dickface, at least with the detective stuff. A kid like that is going to go places, but not if he never gets his life back.

"Which is why we're going to fix this," Barbara tells him, giving him another squeeze. "Stop worrying about what-ifs, they're not going to get you anywhere except spiraling down into might-have-beens that don't matter now anyway. Instead, focus on solving the problem. Is there anything here that seems wrong? It's about now that the swap must have happened, from what you've told me."

Jason stares at the screen, determined to see something, anything that could help. But Robin is keeping his attention firmly focused downwards on the boy before him, ruffling clothes, checking for injuries. "It's just me. I was unconscious after the car, I don't remember anything until after the switch."

"Anything at all? The smallest detail could be significant."

He frowns, trying to remember what was happening. It was only a of couple weeks ago, but his brain was so jumbled up at the time that it feels like a lot more time has passed since then. "I was on comms with B when it happened," he remembers. "He was asking me—Robin—if I was alright. I think Tim was telling him about how there was another boy? That was when I notice myself on the ground." Looking around, he tries to find some kind of speaker. "Isn't there any sound for this?"

"Not for the video, but there's a chance the comm record hasn't been dumped yet," Barbara says, minimizing the video player and opening a new window, working so quickly and easily that it makes Jason's head hurt. The computer in the cave was still pretty new when he—before. He's slowly working his way around Tim's laptop, but it's all fairly foreign stuff to him.

"Here," Barbara says after a few minutes, "I think I've found it. Now, if I match the time stamps, I should be able to get it synced with the video…" Some more fiddling, and then the player is back and running again, this time with a soundtrack.

_"I don't remember."_ A long pause, punctuated by deep, panicked breathing. _"I don't. I don't understand. B, what's going on?"_

"That's me," Jason says, waving his hand. "We've gone too far. Can you back it up to just after the accident? Something happened between when the car hit us and when I started talking to B. The switch, it happened after the car. B and—and Robin, they were in the middle of a conversation when I hopped in."

Babs backs up the recording until just after the car, hits play again. Side-by-side, they again watch green gauntlets travel over the boy on the ground, checking for injuries. This time, they listen as Robin calls 911, then immediately hangs up on the operator as soon as the mask focuses on Jason's unconscious face.

There's a brief moment of hesitating silence, and then Robin is talking again. This time, it's Batman who responds.

_"I'm on my way, keep this line open. Do you know if it's actually him or a copy? No, wait, don't answer that, you wouldn't have any of the tools to determine that kind of thing in the field."_

Batman's words nearly drown out what's said next low and quiet, and once again Barbara has to backtrack, increase the volume, play with the filters until they can hear what Robin says. Whispers, really, as he stares down at Jason's face and reaches out a green-gloved hand to gently touch a cheek. _"It's just not fair, you just can't catch a break, can you? If I could, I'd switch places with you."_

The camera jostles, shuddering slightly like Robin shivers, or. Feels slightly out of place. There's a long stretch of silence, finally broken by Batman's concerned query. _"Robin? Come in, Robin. Are you alright?"_

Jason reaches over and hits pause. "That's it. That's when it happened."

"Awfully convenient, the two of you switching right after he said something like that," Barbara comments. She's frowning, clearly displeased.

"Something wrong?"

"I was hoping he might be looking up when it happened, give us a view of the area, let us see if anyone was nearby, watching."

He shakes his head. "It was just me and him. Me. I mean—"

"I know." She reaches over, squeezes his hand. "Usually there's some big flash, or a strange sound that gets picked up by comms, or _something_. This is just a throwaway comment that might not even have anything to do with what happened. Heck, it's not even an 'I wish' statement, so it can't be some rogue genie playing about."

Jason would insist that the last seems pretty unlikely, but he saw a lot of crazy stuff go down during his time following Batman around. It's probably not _completely_ out of the question. "Could he be a meta, maybe? Tim, I mean. Don't some of the ones with magic sometimes do it without meaning too?"

"Sometimes, but that doesn't seem likely. You know how paranoid Bruce is—I'm sure he ran every kind of test he could think of on y—on Tim before letting him even start to train."

Sighing, Jason slumps against the computer desk. "So we're back to square one, then."

"Not entirely," Barbara says, tapping her lips in thought. "We now know there was a catalyst for the change, probably. And that means it's unlikely this was a completely random event. Something, somewhere, was watching Robin. We just have to figure out who or what it was."

"Something else, too," Jason says as a thought occurs to him. "If that was what caused it, the, y'know, catalyst—we know where Tim is for certain."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, because he said wished we could switch places. So, at least that means he's probably inside me."

* * *

Jason sneaks in through the kitchen door, hoping no one will notice he's getting in over an hour later than he was told to. He's pretty sure he's in the clear, when someone clears their throat, making him jump almost a foot in the air. He whirls around, sure the jig is up. "Alfred?"

"I do not suppose you are aware of the time, Master Timothy? Surely your watch has stopped, since you are so tardy in your arrival."

"Ah, I… stayed after practice? To help clear things up," he says, thinking quickly.

"How thoughtful. Particularly considering that your coach called earlier to express his concern over your health after your recent vehicular calamity. He wanted to be certain you had arrived home safe and sound, since you were in far too much pain to practice, earlier."

Shit. Jason's shoulders sag, and he kicks at the polished tile. "I went to go see Barbara. She's… helping me put a thing together for, for Jason. For when he wakes up. So he knows all the stuff he missed while he was. All the stuff he missed."

Alfred hums, one eyebrow raised as he watches Jason sweat and squirm uncomfortably. "A thoughtful thing to do, but you have made a commitment to this sport, and by doing so, you are obligated to see it through. Even when there are other, more exciting activities you'd prefer to do. Furthermore, lying is unbecoming of a young man, and it was very rude of you to be so disrespectful to your coach."

Jason sighs, wilting even further. "Yeah, you're right. Sorry, Alf."

"I am not the one you should be apologizing to."

"I know." He swallows, squirming uncomfortably. "Do I have to fess up to the coach?"

Alfred lets him sweat for almost a full minute before slowly shaking his head. "While it could only do you good to take full responsibility for your actions, I do understand that the current circumstances are… somewhat unusual. For that reason, I suppose you can be allowed a reprise—though only for today. I expect you to do all your required schoolwork and extra-curriculars tomorrow, or else I shall be forced to speak to Master Bruce about suspending certain _other_ activities."

"Okay," Jason says, still slumped against the wall. "That's fair."

"Now run along upstairs. I'm sure you have assignments you wish to complete before dinner time."

"Right. Thanks, Alf! I owe you one," he calls back over his shoulder as he dashes out of the kitchen.

It's not until he's pulling Tim's school things out of his backpack that he realizes Alfred never promised to _not_ tell Bruce about this whole thing. Yikes. Considering what he and Barbie have planned for tonight, he's really hoping the big man continues to stay in the dark for as long as possible.

* * *

It was Jason's idea to figure out Robin's entire patrol route from the night of the switch based on the footage recorded by his mask. Babs already knew most of it—apparently Bruce has set routes for Robin to follow, depending on which areas he feels need the most attention—but there was definitely a deviation at the end, since he wasn't supposed to end up quite so close to the cemetery following the route he was supposed to be on.

It was Babs's idea to have Jason follow the same route and try to get a better idea of all that Robin might have encountered on that fateful night. Jason had been worried Batman wouldn't be okay with him deciding on his own where to go, but when he got down to the Cave that evening, he was surprised to learn that was exactly the patrol he'd be doing.

"Oracle says she saw some shady activity around there the last time you covered it," Batman tells him. "She meant for you to check it out sooner, but forgot with everything else that's been going on."

It takes Jason a minute to remember that Oracle is Babs's new name, but when he does, he grins. "Yeah, sure. I can do that."

"You'll be coordinating with her tonight to make sure you get the information she needs."

"You got it, boss!" He tugs on Tim's Robin suit and slots the comm into his ear, waiting until Batman is nearly to the car before saying, "You are a sneaky, sneaky devil and I love you."

_"Sweet-talker,"_ the digital voice says, and Jason laughs as he hops on Robin's bike and jams on his helmet. It's not the same as getting to swing through the city beside Batgirl, but, well. It's _nearly_ as good.

* * *

Once he gets to the city, he stashes the bike and then takes his time, swinging as slow as he dares along the route Robin followed the other day. Oracle is in his ear the entire time, making sure he doesn't deviate, that he looks long and hard at everything as he passes it by. He does the job as he goes, rescuing some kids from bullies and deviating slightly to walk them the rest of the way home. Helping an arthritic man carry his groceries up six flights to his apartment. Shouting at some dogs who think it's a good idea to corner a poor cat up on top of a dumpster. The cat scratches him when he tries to help it down, then uses his head as a springboard to leap off into the night.

"You're welcome!" he calls off after the little monster, hissing as he examines the scratches. "Shi-oot. I've been trying to keep the damage down to a minimum." It only seems polite, after all, seeing as how he's in a borrowed ride.

_"You should probably disinfect and bandage that now. Cat scratches can get nasty,"_ Oracle tells him.

"I swear the thing was possessed," he grumbles as he does just that. "Red eyes and everything."

_"Lights reflect off of cats' eyes, making them look weird. It didn't have red eyes, kid."_

"Says _you_." He wraps a bandage around the arm, then stows away the first aid supplies and returns to his route. He's already most of the way done, only a few blocks over from the cemetery now.

_"This is where he should have turned and instead kept going straight,"_ Oracle tells him less than a minute later.

"You know the guy—any idea why he changed the route? He couldn't have seen me from here, there's still another couple blocks to go, and buildings block any kind of sightline."

_"Well,"_ she says, drawing out the word in that strange, grating voice. _"It was an important anniversary. And, like I said, he really looks up to you. Maybe he wanted to pay a visit."_

"Ugh, that's still so creepy. I've never even _met_ the kid."

_"You were his hero, Robin. Wouldn't you want to show respect for your heroes, even the ones you've never had a chance to meet?"_

Jason's met all his heroes—Wonder Girl and Wonder Woman, Superman, Catherine. Batgirl. But he supposes he can sort of understand—he couldn't wait to meet Sheila, back when he first learned of her. And. He'd still tried his darnedest to rescue her, right up until the very the end.

Swallowing, he turns and heads toward the cemetery. _"Batman is still confused by the fact that the coffin was broken open from the inside."_

"Yeah? You should tell him to include a knife next time. I swear, I broke so many fingernails getting out of that thing." If it hadn't been for his belt buckle, he probably would have suffocated before ever breaking free. Of course, if that had happened, then Tim Drake would still be in the right body and none of this would be an issue. And Jason would be dead. Again.

His hands tighten around the jump line, and swallows hard around the lump in his throat.

_"If it's any consolation, he had alarms on it to make sure he'd know if anyone opened it up. I guess they just weren't triggered because it was opened from the wrong direction."_

It should be reassuring, but. "That's stupid. It should've been triggered no matter what. That kind of alarm, it sounds like it was set up specifically so it _wouldn't_ notice if I—if someone came out."

_"I think he's already updated the design for the future."_

Jason lands easily on a rooftop opposite the cemetery, staring across the road at the grassy hills with their grey stones and occasional trees. He doesn't really remember stumbling down it, doesn't really have much of any clear memory before seeing Robin standing there, wearing his colors.

“Okay, I'm here," he says, winding his grapple as he turns in a slow circle. "I wasn't really paying attention last time so I can't tell if anything's different, but it looks quiet enough. Definitely no more zombie kids."

_"Pretty sure it's not zombies we're dealing with here, Boy Wonder. If nothing else, they're not nearly as chatty."_

"Yeah, well. First time for everything, right?" Clipping the grapple gun back on his belt, he glances back across the road again. "Do you want me to check out across the street too?" He's not too keen on going back there anytime soon, but if it will help to fix this… 

_"It would be a good idea. Maybe this is because of something you encountered instead of him. For all we know, you stumbled through a fairy ring."_

"Are those even a thing?"

_"Maybe. At this point, I think we're both desperate for any kind of lead."_

It's a fair assessment of the situation, so he jumps down and starts across the roadside parkway. If nothing else, all of this helps to keep his mind off other things. Like what they'll do if Tim-Jason never wakes up.

* * *

The ground is all smoothed out, the edges of the newly placed sod obvious, and the entire thing gives him the willies. Jason is pretty sure _every_ cemetery is going to give him the willies for a long time to come, but he's really wishing Barbie hadn't insisted on him coming back to here. Wouldn't surprise him if he's probably got PTSD or some shit.

_"You know, people used to tie a string to the hand of the dead person, then have it connect up to a bell on the surface. That way, they could know if the person was buried before they were quite dead."_

"That only works if there's someone around to hear the bell." Jason shivers—it's a cool idea, but he's sure it wouldn't have been much help when he woke up. Still, if he'd had a string like that, he thinks it might have made him feel a little better. If nothing else, it would mean that someone, somewhere was still holding out hope for him. Of course, it would also mean that Bruce was totally okay with burying him alive, and that's not comforting at all.

_"If something similar happens in the future, I'm fairly certain I can convince him to include a panic button in the casket, along an oxygen tank and mask."_

"It's creepy that we even have to think about stuff like that." Feeling more than a little sick, Jason turns away from the grave just in time to catch a flash of orange out of the corner of his eye. "What the…?"

_"Something up?"_ she asks, somehow managing to sound sharp and alert despite the current digital quality of her voice.

"Shush." He steps lightly across the grass, but his sudden movement earlier was apparently too startling, since all he manages to see is the tip of a furry orange tail disappearing into dense underbrush. "Huh. That's strange."

_"Everything alright?"_

"Yeah, sure. But I think that cat from earlier followed me." Weird—he was pretty sure the cat hadn't even _liked_ him.

There's a long silence on the other end of the line before she finally replies. _"Robin. I don't know if you mentioned it before, but what color was the cat?"_

"Orange, why? It's just a cat, it's not like it's a criminal or a minion or something. Not unless Catwoman has _seriously_ changed her m.o. since I last ran into her." Wouldn't that be something—Selina with little henchkitties all over the city, spying and reporting back to her. Just the mental image prompts a snicker.

_"Come on back. I think I may have something."_


	4. Chapter 4

"His name is Klarion," Babs says when Jason climbs through the window of the clock tower almost 15 minutes later. On the screen in front of her is a boy with pale blue skin, oddly cut hair, and very black eyes. "He's a magic user that Tim helped out a couple of months ago."

"And, lemme guess, he turns into a cat." Jason sighs. Of course it's magic. Of course. How could it be anything else? This is literal soul-exchanging, after all.

"Not quite. He has a familiar, Teekl, and _she's_ a cat. Either way, Teekl is a very big, very orange cat. Since she's not quite a normal feline, her eyes are sometimes red."

The photo on the screen slides to the side, making room for another picture to come in beside it. The new image isn't as good as the first, being a bit blurry, but it's very definitely an orange cat, and one that looks an awful lot like the one Jason saw earlier in the evening. "Yeah, that looks right."

"Klarion is sort of a neutral player. He isn't trying to hurt people, but he doesn't go out of his way to help either. In general, he specializes in causing chaos—pranks, general unrest, that sort of thing."

"If he's a troublemaker, why'd Tim help him?"

"I believe there was a murderous apocalyptic monster involved? Teekl was one of the key ingredients for making it, so Klarion had a vested interest in stopping the thing from being created." Babs presses a key or two and a drawing of a hideous beast pops up.

"Yikes, that doesn't look like something I'd want to run into in a dark alley. And Batman lets him handle this kind of stuff on his own? That's crazy." Jason was lucky if he ever got to do _anything_ on his own back when he was wearing the pixie boots. Babs has said that Bruce is a lot more protective of Robin now, but everywhere he turns seems to hold evidence to the contrary.

"Bruce not being a shining example of a psychologically healthy, stable adult? What a shocking twist," Babs says, her voice dry and cutting.

Jason loves Bruce, really, but she has a fair point. "You think this Klarion had something to do with all this?"

"Maybe. I have no idea how to find him, though, so this doesn't really help us all that much." She frowns, drumming her fingers against the desk.

"No, this is good. It means it's probably magic, right? So all we have to do is find someone who can do magic and they can fix it for us. Someone like Zatanna, or, uh." Jason wracks his brain, trying to think of other heroes that are magic users. "Aqualad?"

Babs stares at him, then bursts out laughing. "Sorry, I know it's not funny. I just haven't heard him called that in a while. He goes by 'Tempest' now."

"Oh. Well, my point still stands—we can ask one of them, can't we?"

She sighs. "Bruce is too paranoid to even ask one of his Justice League buddies to come read the mind of the kid he's got sleeping in your old room. Why would he let a magic user he barely knows into the house? It's not going to happen, _particularly_ as long as he doesn't know the whole story of what's going on."

His shoulders slump. He hadn't even thought about that, he's been so eager to get everyone back to where they belong. "Maybe we could kidnap Tim-Jason?"

"Or maybe it's time you came clean with Bruce and Alfred," she says gently, reaching over to squeeze his hand.

"I don't…" He stops, gulps. "I ran away. To meet Sheila. And before that, we weren't… He was mad at me." He swallows again, hand tightening in hers. "I think he was going to take Robin away from me. _Would_ have taken Robin away, if I hadn't—yeah."

"Would that have been so bad? Dick loved being Robin, he excelled at it, it brought back some of the showmanship and performance he grew up with. But things changed a lot between when he started as Robin and when he became Nightwing. The world's become a darker, more dangerous place. And you, you never needed a stage to perform on the way Dick does." 

"But—"

She tugs him down and carefully wraps her arm around his shoulders, still not letting go of his hand. "Sometimes I think the worst thing Bruce ever did for you was give you Robin."

"What?" Why in the world would she something like _that_?

"I will admit he does better with a partner to help remind him how to be human, but—Jason, you were a _child_ coming from a very bad situation. The responsible thing would have been to have you go to therapy, not train you to fight crime."

"But that's—Dick did it too! And you!"

"It wasn't necessarily the best thing for Dick either; neither one of you were really old enough to make a choice like that when you started. I was at least eighteen and responsible for my own actions. Bruce was supposed to be protecting you from the worst the world had to offer, not dropping you right in front of it and expecting you to come up fighting."

Jason glares at her, but can't fault her entirely. There's a degree of logic to what she's saying, much as he hates to admit it. "What about Tim? I don't see you stopping me from going out now."

"I'm sure you've noticed that Tim has a lot more protections and safeguards than you ever did."

"_He_ patrols alone! At least I never did that."

"He also avoids the big stuff as much as possible, or only deals with it when he's with Bruce. And even then, Bruce seems to be attempting to minimize how much of that Tim gets involved with." She frowns, toggling back the recording to get a better look at the cat. "Of course, even the most cautious of plans doesn't do much good when magic gets involved."

* * *

He's passed it multiple times now since the first time the car brought him and Tim-Jason back, but he never thought to stop and look at it before. It was just another of the boss's nostalgia trophies, and he'd always assumed it was more an homage to the scaly leotard than anything else.

After what Barbara said, after the cemetery—Jason figures he could do with a little nostalgia, a reminder of the magic he used to feel when he pulled on the tunic. Back when this was his job and not just something he's doing to play a part.

It's not until he gets close that he realizes it's not one of Dick's old costumes, but his own spare suit, the one that was left behind when he went to Ethiopia. The fasteners on the tunic are different, and the cape's a little longer. There's a slightly different weave to it, some heavier cloth that WayneTech developed after Jason inherited the pixie boots.

There's also a plaque at the base of the case, brassy and polished to the point of gleaming. 'Jason Todd: A Good Soldier.'

Something's squeezing his throat, tight and unrelenting, and he staggers forward, his hand colliding with the case as he grasps about, trying to find something, anything to steady himself. As soon as he feels the slick surface under his glove he stumbles backwards, nearly falling before Alfred catches him, constant and steady.

"I say, Master Tim. Are you alright?"

"It's just. The case," he gasps, somehow feeling better just because of Alfred being there. "Babs had me scoping out the cemetery tonight, looking for stuff about—looking for anything B might've missed, and I thought. I mean. Is the boss embarrassed that he adopted Jason?"

"I'm not entirely certain I follow your logic in this matter. Whyever would you think that?" Alfred asks, taking Jason's elbow and guiding him over to the sit on one of the benches by the showers.

"It's just. It's weird, isn't it? That the only thing on Jason's tombstone is his name? And that he's buried in the public cemetery instead of at the manor with B's parents." In the _family_ graveyard. "The case—'A Good Soldier'—was that all he was to B?" If it were just one thing, it wouldn't be so much of a problem, but. But between everything…

"Ah. I believe Master Bruce wanted Master Jason to rest beside his mother. I think he rather felt like something of a johnny-come-lately when it came to parenthood and he thought she had more right to his company." Alfred sighs and, almost unthinkably, sits down beside Jason. "As for the lack of any epitaph on the stone, I'm afraid that would be my fault. I thought I was up to the task when I volunteered to take on that duty for him, but I found myself too distressed to think of anything meaningful. I always thought I would come back to it, when I was no longer so upset by the thought." He smiles at Jason, and, amazingly, tears twinkle in the corners of his eyes. "Now it would appear I can put off that particular chore for good while longer."

"Only if he wakes up," Jason says, and he winces. The words sound more callous to his ears than the morose he intended. "I mean…" But he doesn't want to explain what he means, doesn't want to hurt Alfred even more.

"Yes, I know." He squeezes Jason's hand, then stands. "I'll leave you to your shower now," he says, quickly excusing himself.

It doesn't escape Jason's notice that Alfred never addressed the topic of the plaque on the case.

He showers quickly, then grabs one of the sandwiches Alfred left out and heads up to the house. He should go straight to bed, but he has a stop he wants to make first.

Tim-Jason doesn't look any different than he did earlier, but Jason still likes to check on him when he can. Look over the various monitors, check his vitals. The huge bruise on his forehead is receding, as is the lump that was left by the car. Dr. Thompkins said something about swelling in the brain from bruising, that they can't really know anything for certain until that goes down.

Swallowing the last of his sandwich, Jason sits down in the chair and reaches out to touch Tim-Jason's hand. "Hey. Barbara and I—we think we know what happened now. Maybe. Turns out you're too good a Samaritan and some wi—some boy decided to listen in at just the wrong time."

There's no change, just quiet breathing, and Jason gulps. This is stupid, the kid probably can't even hear him. But.

"I'm really sorry about all this. You seem like an okay guy, and you were just trying to do the job. It's not fair that this happened to you."

He bites his lip and, weird as it feels, takes Tim-Jason's hand in his. "I think. I think it's not fair that any of this happened to either of us. But y'know? Some of it, I wouldn't trade for the world." No matter what Barbie may say to the contrary.

* * *

He goes to bed. Wakes up in the morning, eats breakfast, goes to school. He keeps trying to keep in mind what Barbara told him, that Tim may be smart but that doesn't mean he's a good student. He'd think it a clever ploy on the kid's part to direct attention away so no one will think to make the connection between the bright boy in the cape and the mediocre student, but he suspects that's not the case at all.

No, Jason suspects that Tim is really just a lazy student. Which is ridiculous, because anyone who's bright enough to deduce that he and Dick were Robin, that B is Batman, is definitely bright enough to be on top of all his classes. But apparently he's one of those kids who just doesn't feel challenged or engaged enough by the curriculum, since in the short time that Jason's been living Tim Drake's life, he's had teachers take him aside multiple times, expressing delight over the sudden improvement in the work he's been turning in. And that's with him doing less than his best because he loses so much time just making sure he's doing a passable fake of Tim's handwriting.

Jason _knows_ he needs to dial it back, needs to do a better job of copying Tim's writing style, his lack of dedication. He knows he needs to make more of an effort with Tim's friends (who he can identify by name now, thanks to Barbie giving him a nice little primer with photo dossiers), but friends are hard and school is easy and he's already out of his depth just trying to duck around Alfred and Bruce. In a way, the car has been something of a blessing, since he can chalk up a lot of his odd behavior to getting a conk on the noggin.

He's been using the same excuse at school as well, but somehow it doesn't work as well when you're trying to convince teachers that you've suddenly decided to become a better student because you had a close call with your maker. Tim's friends definitely haven't been buying it, and he's not sure how he's going to handle the tennis team—and what kind of highly trained vigilante joins a _sport_ team anyway? He's tried to memorize the rules, and his hand-eye coordination is nothing to sniff at, but he still isn't sure how to work with a partner that isn't over a foot taller with more than a hundred pounds on him.

As it is, he's taken to wearing the smallest of the comms all day just so he can get Barbie to give him hints with things (he can memorize dossiers and do all the assigned work and still none of that is going to teach him how to _act_ like Tim Drake). Sebastian Ives keeps pulling him aside to ask about "the game" and he's been having to brush him off because even Barbie isn't entirely sure which game the guy could be referring to.

At night, he goes out and follows Robin's patrol routes, follows Batman's rules of engagement to a T and doesn't ever try to bite off more than he can chew, no matter how much he itches to do _more_. Part of being Robin is protecting those who can't protect themselves, and right now Tim is one of those unprotected people. He may have had the training, may have chosen to wear the R, but this whole situation is chock full of weird-ass consent issues. They both agreed to be Robin, but Tim definitely didn't agree to his body being Robin with Jason at the wheel, and if he messes up and gets this body damaged more than a bruise or three, he isn't sure if he'll ever be able to live with himself.

On the fifth day, after a long hour of chasing a ball around and apologizing profusely every time he accidentally nails someone with it on a backswing, Barbie calls him. 

"Do you know where he is?" He may be a little more sharp than he means to be, jamming the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he struggles to zip the racket back into Tim's sports duffle.

_"I've been speaking to people and I think I have someone you can visit tonight for more information on our perp,"_ she tells him. _"It's… it's not all of it good, kiddo. There's a chance he had a hand in more than just the switch."_

"What's that supposed to mean?" he demands, settling the bag strap across his chest and starting the long walk to the bus stop.

_"I don't know anything for certain,"_ she warns, _"but from what I gather, the target has more than a passing acquaintance with necromancy."_

"Great. Maybe we can get some answers on that front too."

_"Kiddo, I know this is all pretty weird for you, but—"_

"But it's my life, not yours. Mine and Ti—mine and Sleeping Beauty's. We deserve to know why this happened, who got hurt because of it."

_"We can't be certain anyone was hurt."_

He laughs, sharp and doubting. "Scary stories aren't really my thing, but even I know no one comes back without some kind of sacrifice. And I don't know about you, but there are certain prices I'm not willing to pay." If the only way to return Tim to his own body is to put Jason back in the ground, well. That's more than fair in his book.


	5. Chapter 5

Barbara says it doesn't really matter because of magic, but Jason feels better all around to wait on following up her lead until that evening when he's back in the mask and cape. It's not his own identity that's on the line right now, after all.

Batman thinks Robin is still looking into something suspicious for Oracle, so doesn't say anything when Jason says he's going to be deviating from patrol tonight. Or maybe the boss is still so distracted by Tim-Jason that he doesn't have the mindset to pay attention to what his partners are up to right now.

_"Fair warning, this guy is basically the foremost paranormal investigator on the eastern seaboard, but he's also got a not so great history with our witchboy,"_ she warns him as he swings across the city. _"He may point you in the right direction to find Klarion, or even be able to switch you back himself. At the same time, he might refuse to speak with you on the grounds that Robin has helped Klarion in the past."_

"Wow. Are you sure this is even a guy I should be talking to? Aren't you supposed to be the responsible adult here?"

_"Part of being a responsible adult is making sure all my honorary little brothers end up where they're supposed to be."_ The weird filter she uses for Oracle's voice strips all emotion, but Jason can almost hear the chiding fondness that likely overlaid the words when she first spoke them, and he has to bite his lip to fight down a smile. When he was younger, he might have hated the idea of being Batgirl's brother, but apparently being dead gives you a bit of perspective on any number of things, including what constitutes _family_.

"So you don't trust this guy, but you don't _not_ trust him."

_"More like I trust him, it's just the demon riding on his back that I'm not so certain of. They sometimes work in conjunction on things, but the demon doesn't always have humans' best interests in mind the way the man does."_

In the middle of winding his grapple gun for another leap, Jason pauses. "When you say 'demon,' you don't literally mean—"

_"I think he can help,"_ she interrupts. _"But I want you to be very, very careful. And whatever you do, don't make any promises or swear any oaths without talking to me first."_

* * *

"I like your hair," is Jason's first reaction when the guy opens the window to Robin's polite rap. "The white streak? Very cool."

"Excuse me?" The man lingers in front of the window, latch still in hand as he boggles at the intruder. "Robin, isn't it?"

"The one and only." Pushing past him, Jason hops inside. "So, I don't know if they contacted you first, but Oracle said you might be able to help me with a little problem of the magical kind that I seem to have acquired."

The man peers at him, frowning slightly. "Your aura is… not quite right."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

"Slightly… necromantic in nature?"

"Oh, well. That is totally my fault and not his," Jason gestures to his body—_Tim's_ body. "But from what O's told me, you're a guy who knows a thing or two about spirit-riders, right?"

"A possession? Hmm, no, it's not quite right for something like that…" He circles around Jason, frowning slightly.

"Oracle and me, we're really hoping it's less possession and more a, uh. Spirit swap? But, y'know. I was kinda recently resurrected when it happened, so that might have affected things a bit too." He shifts uneasily, rubbing the back of his neck as he glances around the room. There's a lot of weird crap on the walls and on the shelves—mystical symbols, ancient tomes, unsettling artifacts. Barbie's warnings shoot back to the forefront of his mind and he gulps.

"Recently resurrected. I hadn't heard about Batman or Robin having any difficulties with the undead lately. Nor any news of unsettled ghosts," the man comments, striding across the room. He gently slides aside something that looks a hell of a lot like a human skull so he can take one of the ancient tomes from a shelf.

"Oh, that's… I'm… I'm more of, ah. Unfinished business?" Jason tries to stop himself, but once he starts it all spills out at once. "Or, I guess. I was pretty finished with everything, I thought? I mean, they thought—I wasn't thinking much of anything, on account of being dead and all. But then I woke up and dug my way out and there was a car and Ti—Robin saved me, but then something happened and we switched and I just. I need to get him back where he belongs." He hadn't realized how much it's been bothering him until now, only having Barbara to talk to about this. He swallows again, then licks his lips. "Sorry, I didn't meant to dump on you."

The man has narrowed his eyes at Jason, frowning from across the room. "You're only a child yourself, aren't you?"

"Y-yeah. I guess," he says, though it irks him a little to admit it. He was _fifteen_ when he went to Ethiopia, would have turned sixteen in a few months if he hadn't—well. He would've been nearly _eighteen_ by now if nothing had happened. But something did and now he's not.

"A dead child who plays well enough at being Robin that Batman hasn't caught you out yet… That would make you the second Robin, I suppose? The one who died."

Jason freezes. He's pretty sure this isn't one of the Justice League-approved magicians—or at least, not one on their regular roster—and near as he can figure, only a few heroes know that anything happened to the second Robin. Knowing that Robin died… knowing _when_ Robin died—it makes it distressingly easy to figure out Batman's identity.

Apparently Barbara is thinking the same thing, since she whispers a soft, _"Careful, Robin,"_ in his ear.

"I don't know about that," Jason says slowly. "There are a lot of dead kids up in the cemetery. This is _Gotham_, after all."

"Please," the man says with a wave of his hand. "I'm not an idiot. Nor do I care one whit about your mentor's identity. I'm just trying to determine where you came from so I can better identify the magic used to leave you in your current predicament."

"Oh." That… makes a lot of sense.

"Now, did you die in a manner that involved magic? Or was it completely mundane?"

"It was. It's," something he really doesn't like to think about. Something he's still kicking himself over, something that makes him feel sick and scared and anxious all at once. Something that evokes a desperate, bone-deep _need_ for the safe solidity of his father—his real father, not the one who never had any time for him or his mom. "There was a bomb. The Joker, he..." Beat him to the brink of death and then tried to blow him up. "I think cause of death was listed as smoke inhalation."

"Mundane, then. And your resurrection? Do have any idea what the cause of that was?"

"We're not sure. Oracle and me, I mean. We thought—it might have been the same person that caused the switch, maybe? But we don't know for sure, and there was enough time between the two that maybe not."

"But you are certain of who saw fit to exchange your soul with that of the current Robin's."

"Not exactly, but a lot of the clues fit, and T—and Robin, he helped him out a while back, Oracle said, so there's a chance, and it's not like we've got any other clues, but we also don't know where to find him and Oracle said you might and—"

"Hush, calm yourself. I can't tell you for certain what caused your own resurrection—you're sure it was a resurrection? That you haven't simply been summoned into this boy's body? Right, I see. Hm, well. I'll need to see the body that was returned to life to determine the cause of that incident, but for now I can say that magic clinging to your soul simply _reeks_ of Croatoan magics."

"Who in the what now?"

The man slams his book shut, a grim expression on his face. "I suspect that your Oracle has sent you to me knowing that I have something of a history with this magic. Since you yourself are a boy inhabiting the body of yet another boy, I furthermore suspect that the magician you believe to be the cause of your unfortunate predicament is, more likely than not, Klarion Bleak the witchboy."

"Oh, he's good," Jason whispers to Barbara.

_"Well, if everything I've found about him is correct, he should be after all this time."_

"Seeing as how I still have something of a score to settle with that little troublemaker, I, Jason Blood, would be more than happy to help you set this whole thing right."

"Huh. Well, alrighty then," he says because he's not really sure how else to respond to a pronouncement like that.

* * *

Blood, it turns out, has it in for Klarion because the witchboy once tried to enslave him ("Not me, the demon whose fate is intertwined with mine and shares my being at times.") to his will.

"I'm pretty sure Robin saved his cat once. I hope you won't hold it against us," Jason offers, because it seems to him that hiding important information from powerful immortal demonologist-slash-paranormal investigators is just a bad idea when you're trying to gain their trust.

"The witchboy has both helped and hindered me in the past. His appearance and behavior can be somewhat misleading at times," Blood says, which Jason is pretty sure means he's getting a free pass.

"Right, well. Like I said, we're not sure it was him, but there's a ginger cat that's been hanging around and Robin did have an encounter with the kid a little while back, and then voiced a really stupid wish right before the switch happened, so we figure there's a chance."

The man hums noncommittally as he kneels down to examine some invisible _something_. They're across the road from the cemetery again, Blood having insisted that Jason take him there so he could properly examine the scene or something. "And you have not approached one of Batman's more frequent allies in the field of magic because you seek to keep this whole matter secret from him."

"Ah, y'see, that's… The boss, he's got a lot on his plate right now, with everything else. He doesn't need to be distracted from the important stuff," Jason waffles. He _wants_ to let Bruce into the loop, but he also knows what will probably happen. And, if nothing else, the most important thing right now is doing whatever they can to keep Jason's body alive and safe, at least until they get Tim out and back to where he rightfully belongs.

"The fact that his current protégé has been switched with the previous one is not 'important'?"

"It is! It is, but you know how Batman is—he'd get so hung up on whether my being back is some great conspiracy by, like, Ra's al Ghul or someone that he'd totally forget about T—Robin, and the kid doesn't deserve that."

"You feel you do not deserve equal attention and concern?"

"Oh, well. I had my time, didn't I?" Jason says as nonchalantly as possible. "I'm not supposed to be back anyway, so. If it comes down to it, Robin's the important one here. He's got his entire life ahead of him still." While Jason is just living on borrowed time, when it comes down to it.

_"Jason, that's not… B will be happy to have you back too,"_ Barbara says in his ear, which is sweet of her. She doesn't know what happened, why Jason went to Ethiopia in the first place. Why he had to run away before Bruce gave up and kicked him out.

"That's a rather noble sentiment. Complete codswallop, of course—there's every chance you came back through entirely legitimate means, in which case you have just as much right to your current life as the boy you're presently inhabiting," Blood says. He stands, brushing non-existent dirt from his knees. "This way. The aura of a draaga is a distinct and lingering one."

* * *

It's almost anti-climatic when they finally find him.

Klarion is chortling to himself, watching some drunk try to get into their car and subtly shifting the key slightly to the right every time it should go in the lock. It's a harmless sort of fun that actually works out in the end. Jason lets Blood distract Klarion while he grabs the woman's keys and Oracle calls her a cab. He tucks the keys into her purse when the taxi arrives and gives the driver $20; hopefully it's enough to get her home.

Blood and the witchboy are waiting when he turns around. "Sorry," he says. "I figured it was better to get her out of the way first."

"A true knight is always chivalrous," Blood says, which. Okay then.

"Why did you do that?" Klarion whines. "I was having fun!"

"Yeah, and what about when you got bored and she actually managed to get inside? She could have gotten herself killed! Or someone else. Or both!" Jason snaps. "You could've actually done something to _help_ instead of just made trouble. But I guess trouble is all you do, huh?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm talking about how you really messed up Ti—Robin! You need to put him back where he belongs—put _me_ back where _I_ belong."

"It is never right for a soul to wear another's form without their permission," Blood tells Klarion, frowning at him. "I thought you had learned a little about bodily rights and liberties after our last encounter."

The witchboy cringes slightly, glancing at him. "I didn't do anything wrong! I like Robin, he helped save Teekl! I owed him a favor, so I gave him a little help with a wish he had."

"Bullshit! He didn't really mean it and you know it. You just wanted an excuse to cause mischief. Well, fine. You've had your fun, but it's time to put him back. He has a whole life ahead of him to live, he shouldn't have to sleep it away just because of something he said in the spur of the moment," Jason snaps.

Klarion frowns at him, crossing his arms and straightening somewhat in Blood's grip. "How rude. I do you a nice favor and this is how you treat me? I'm definitely not going to help anyone as rude as you, even if it weren't completely impossible."

"Don't try to tell us your stories or lies," Blood growls. "A life that’s at stake, not some cheap paltry prize."

A glimmer of… fear? passes over Klarion's face, and he glances nervously at the demonologist. "I meant," he says, licking his lips. "I meant that I owed the other Robin a boon, not this one. It wouldn't be right to undo a justly granted boon. A _powerful_ justly granted boon."

"You owe this child something too, for all the pain you've put him through."

"No, it's not equivalent," Klarion insists, sounding slightly panicked now. "If I counteract a boon with reparation for a slight, the balance won't be equal, and then this one will owe me in return and something tells me you wouldn't like that. I'm not trying to cheat here, Uncle Jason, I swear!"

"_Uncle_? He's your _nephew_?" Jason asks, more than a little shocked by this revelation.

"Nay, the title applied by the tricky child is done as an irritant, truthfully mild."

"Oh," Jason says, somewhat mollified. "I still don't think it should count as a legitimate boon since Robin didn't even ask for this, not really."

"He said it was something he wanted. If he didn't want it, he should have kept his mouth shut," Klarion says, looking inordinately pleased with himself even as he continues to dangle from Blood's grip on the back of his neck.

Something warm brushes against Jason's leg, and he looks down to see the orange cat from the other night. She doesn't _look_ like a dangerous other-planar magical familiar no matter what Barbie says, but Jason supposes looks can be deceiving and all that—look at Brucie, after all. Reaching down, he lets her sniff his hand, then gently pets her once she's arched her back into his palm.

"Mind yourself 'round the familiar beast of the witchboy. Their claws are sharp with venom; this kitty is no toy."

"She's a sweetheart," Jason argues as he carefully strokes the thick orange fur. "If she scratched you, it was probably because you didn't get permission before touching her."

"Teekl is awfully fond of you," Klarion says, sounding almost surprised.

"Not surprising, since I saved her from some dogs last week." Jason smiles, transferring his attention so he can use the rough grips on the fingertips of his gloves to rub behind the cat's ears. She really seems to like that.

"Did you really? Well, then that's a neat solution. You are owed a minor boon as well, and between that and the other, it's nearly enough to cover a reversal."

"Nearly?" Blood growls, giving the witchboy a shake. "Truly? Am I not owed a boon as well, for hardships past, too long to tell?"

"Ah, well. Yes." The boy gulps, looking nervous once more. "You raise a very good point. I guess I should get on that, then?"

"If you could, please."

* * *

It turns out that Klarion doesn't actually have to be there to switch them back. Which, when it comes down to it, makes sense—he wasn't there the first time, after all. However, he does need a conduit.

"I thought we had already covered this, Master Tim," Alfred says, frowning as Jason very carefully lifts Teekl from the side-satchel on Robin's bike. "I am _not_ a pet sitter."

"Relax, Alf. I'm just looking after her for a friend. You don't have to do anything." The ginger cat leaps from Jason's arms to his shoulder, wrapping a tail around his neck as Jason hurries towards the lockers to strip off Robin.

"I dare say the animal won't be too keen on joining you in the showers," Alfred calls after him. He's probably right, but Teekl's also no ordinary cat so maybe she won't mind. Plus, it's not like he's planning to linger under the water—the sooner he gets upstairs, the better.

He's able to make it up there in record time, then has to wait, nervously shifting from foot to foot as the cat takes her own sweet time following. Everything's ready. At Barbara's suggestion, he wrote a letter ages ago explaining what happened, just in case they switched back on their own. Grabbing it from the bedroom, he holds it in one hand while he grabs Tim-Jason's hand in his other, glancing over as Teekl carefully curls up on the sleeping boy's chest.

Jason gulps. This is…they still aren't sure if the swelling will ever go down, if he'll ever wake up. It could be the last time he's awake and aware of anything ever again.

He suddenly wishes he'd waited for Bruce to get back from patrol first. It wouldn't have been the real thing, but it would've been nice to get one of his awkward, unsure hugs first. Since he probably won't get that ever again, awake or asleep.

Clenching his teeth, he shakes his head. "Okay," he tells the cat, tells the witchboy looking out through the cat's eyes. "I'm ready. I wish Tim and I were back in our correct bodies."

Nothing seems to happen for a moment, and then his head begins to throb and the world starts to go a little wobbly and—


	6. Chapter 6

"I don't think—" He stops. Frowns. Wasn't he being asked a question?

_"Are you back with us again?"_ Oracle asks in his ear, which is—he was talking to Batman before, wasn't he? Then his head started to hurt, which made sense after the car… The car!

"I had—there was—" He glances up and his eyes fall on the body in front of him. Still asleep, just like he remembers. Still the same amazing, impossible face. "Jason." And there, in the middle of the other boy's chest… "Teekl?" What the heck?

_"Back with us, then. He said he was leaving a letter for you explaining the situation so I wouldn't have to. Best you read that and catch up on things."_

"A letter? What are you…" He trails off as his hand clenches and he realizes he is indeed clutching a letter. Not only that, but it's in his _hand_, not his glove. And he's sitting in a chair next to a bed in what looks to be the manor, not kneeling by the side of the road. "What day is it?"

_"Friday. Well, nearly Saturday, now. I'll leave you to it—some of us aren't yet done for the night."_

There's a soft click and the subtle white noise of an active comm disappears from his ear. He hadn't even realized she was able to turn them off remotely like that. Glancing back at the sleeping boy, he sighs.

"Alright, let's see what's so important you had to come back from the dead to tell me," Tim says, pulling his hand free of Jason's and unfolding the letter.

> Tim,
> 
> Barbie thinks she's finally pinpointed the cause of the problem, so I'm writing this to let you know what-all's been happening while you're busy re-enacting Sleeping Beauty, just in case I don't get a chance before it all gets put to rights again.
> 
> Near as we can figure, some kid named Klarion went and switched our souls right after you kept that car from turning me into street pizza. Thanks for that, by the way—I know you were just doing the job, but I was pretty out of it (waking up after being dead for two years and then digging yourself out of your own grave can do that to a guy) and wasn't in any shape to save myself. We're hoping if we find this Klarion guy, he'll be able to switch me and you back without the boss being any wiser.
> 
> The boss. Right. So, I'm pretty sure neither him or Alfred or Dick know I've been walking around as you for the past couple of weeks (Barbie only figured it out 'cause she's crazy smart). B's pretty focused on figuring out where I came from and if it's really me (I think it is—the grave I came out of was mine, and I remember all the things Barbie says I should remember, but I guess it makes sense to be worried with what we do), Alf's super-sad about B being sad and me (you, I guess) being in a friggin coma. Dick is… I don't know, it's Dickface. From what I gather, you probably know him way better than I ever did.
> 
> I've tried to do my best to keep people from noticing I'm not you. I think it's mostly worked, so you shouldn't have any problem with people commenting on weird personality changes. Your teachers have been pretty impressed with how dedicated you've been to your schoolwork, though—I'm not saying you have to keep that up, but look. You're a bright kid, from what I hear. You shouldn't sell yourself short and sacrifice your own life for the boss's crusade. It's okay to sometimes stay in from patrol to get your homework done, honest.
> 
> Oh! Speaking of—Barbie's got your photo collection. Sorry about that, but she said I had to check it out to better understand you, and wow. Wow! They're amazing? Like, okay. I'm very disappointed in you risking your safety like that, very dangerous, do not recommend, you could have died, yadda yadda, but wow!! You're one talented kid, I don't know why the heck you're on the stupid tennis team when your school has a photography club! You're really good, and as long as you limit yourself to daytime shots, you could totally go pro one day.
> 
> Doc Thompkins isn't sure if I'm ever going to wake up—apparently whatever brought me back fixed some of the injuries caused by that creepo clown but not all of them, and the car really did a number on me as well. If I don't wake up, that's okay. I wrote some other letters, left them in the desk drawer in your room. I'd appreciate it if you delivered them for me, though if you don't want to let B and the others know about this whole little bodysnatcher escapade, I get it.
> 
> Thanks for letting me have one last hurrah, even if it wasn't exactly by choice on your part. It sucks that we probably won't ever get to meet properly, but I guess that's how this kind of thing goes sometimes. Hope you at least had some decent dreams while you were out.
> 
> Good luck with the R,  
Jason

* * *

The call comes from Oracle when Tim is finishing up for the night, just waiting on a rooftop for the cops to show so they can take witness statements on the carjacking he stopped.

_"You done for the night, Robin?"_

"Pretty much, but you know I always have time for you. What's up?"

_"B was going to keep it on the low-down, but the new treatment worked. Thought you'd like to know that our Sleeping Beauty is awake and talking. First thing he asked for was to see you."_

Tim whoops and has his grapple up and ready before he can even really think about it. "On my way!"

He makes it back to the manor in record time, perhaps a little more reckless than he should be as he swings back to where his bike is stashed, and then when taking it back over Kane Bridge into Bristol. It's only fear of Alfred's wrath that checks his pace when he pulls into the cave, slowing down long enough to strip out of the suit and pull on a T-shirt and shorts, taking the stairs three at a time back up into the house, dodging around antiques and breakables as he bounds down the hallway.

There's a small crowd outside the bedroom door when he gets there, Doctor Thompkins among them, along with Dick, Bruce, and Barbara. Tim checks his pace, unsure whether he should be here, despite her earlier words. But when she catches sight of him she beams, her entire face lighting up in a way he's never really seen before, like every worry has momentarily fallen away in the face of something amazing.

"He ran us all out so he could talk books with Alfred," she says as he draws near, both of them pointedly ignoring the confused looks the others are shooting them. "I'm sure he'll be willing to cut it short for you, though."

"Really? I mean, you know it wouldn't have to be—I mean, we didn't actually—" They've never met, weird as it seems. Just—Jason spent nearly a month running around in his body, and maybe that's enough to make it feel like they know each other.

She rolls her eyes and leans forward, knocking on the door. Alfred opens it almost immediately, and Tim can't help but peak in around the frame when he does. Jason is indeed sitting up in bed, still looking more than a little haggard, but definitely loads better than he did when he was lying on the ground, bruised and battered and only just on this side of the land of the living.

"Timbo, finally!" Jason says cheerfully.

"Ah. I see the man of the hour has arrived. Please, Master Tim, after you," Alfred says, stepping out and holding the door open just long enough so Tim can dash inside.

It swings shut behind him, cutting off Bruce and Dick's demands for an explanation, leaving Tim alone with a stranger who in some ways he feels he knows better than himself. "Hey. Guess I should burn those letters now," he says, because he isn't sure what else to say at this point. Especially since he isn't sure where or how he stands, now that Jason is back, apparently for good.

"Yeah, probably. Thanks for holding onto them, wasn't sure how things would work out in the end, and that seemed like the best way of doing things without making everything way too awkward by letting B in on the secret." Jason reaches over, pats the chair beside his bed. "Anyway, get your butt over here. We've got a lot to talk about."

"We do?" Tim asks, unable to keep the waver of trepidation from his voice as he cautiously walks over and takes a seat. He thinks he has a good idea of where this is going—with Jason back, it's only a matter of time before he reclaims his name, his suit, his place in the family. Tim isn't needed anymore, was only ever a placeholder until someone better came along, someone who could be a _real_ partner to Batman.

"We do," Jason says firmly. "First of all, how do you feel about going halvsies?"

* * *

A woman screams and a thug surges forward only to be stopped in his tracks when the end of a bo staff knocks the gun from his hand. "You know," Robin says, "something tells me that when the lady said you couldn't have her purse, she really meant it."

"Screw you, kid," the mugger growls. "There's only one of you and all you've got is a stick."

Behind Robin there's the click of a gun's safety being taken off as a second mugger steps out of the shadows, boxing him into the alley. "Not the best move you've ever made, bird boy. Everyone knows Batman is busy outside the city with that big Justice League shindig."

"True," Robin says, slowly lowering his staff but not stepping away from the woman who's still clutching her purse to chest with one hand while the other cups the head of the little boy wrapped around her legs. "But it seems you're still a little behind on the news."

"How's that, wise guy?" snarks the first mugger, reaching down to pick up his dropped weapon.

"Well, first off all it's pretty foolish of you to think that just having a gun makes you big and scary," Robin says, his words partially drowned out by the anguished cry that comes when a batarang pins both hand and the gun to the pavement. "Secondly, it's pretty stupid of you to assume that just because Batman's not around I must be alone."

The second man isn't as loud as the first, barely getting off a, "Hey!" before a second batarang knocks his weapon from his hand and a shadow drops from above, pinning him to the ground.

"You got that under control there, Robin?" 

"You know it, Robin." He beams at the woman as he snaps his staff out, hitting the first man across the back and stopping his clumsy attempt to regain his feet. "If you'll just wait out on the street, ma'am, my colleague and I will be happy to walk you home when we're done here. Shouldn't take more than a minute or two, tops."

"O-oh," the woman says, already hurrying her son past where the second Robin is yanking around his mugger's arms, securing the wrists together with a zip-tie. "Thank you? I didn't even realize there were more than one of you."

"Of course there are more of us," the Robin at her feet says. "Didn't you know? Robins come in flocks. That's part of what makes messing with us so dangerous."

**Author's Note:**

> [I have a tumblr!](http://themandylion.tumblr.com/) Come visit if you want ridiculous AU headcanons, rants about the English language (and/or educational publishing), history fangirling, adorable baby bats, and veeeeery occasional fanart. Also, because I am an actual human being with opinions of my own, sometimes I post or reblog things that reflect those opinions. If you can't handle the idea of someone existing in the universe and possessing opinions which differ from your own, you probably should not click on that link.


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